Neither one questioned Trapper’s lie. He’d figured out the more elaborate the lie, the easier it was believed.

As he neared the saloon, he smiled. Maybe, if his luck held a few hours, he’d make enough money to buy a ticket on the westbound stage. Following the sun was his only goal.

When he’d gone home two years ago, he’d learned his brothers were dead, the farm had been sold for taxes, and his pa had disappeared. That night he’d slept in the trees near town and realized there was no home to go back to or memories to keep.

Trapper grew up during the war. All he’d learned was to fight, and he’d had enough of that for a lifetime. The only skill he’d developed was passing unnoticed through towns and open country. He could shoot and track any animal or man. He could live off the land, but he didn’t know how to live with people.

Ever since the South surrendered, he’d watched people, never getting too close to anyone. You make friends, they get to know your secrets, and then they’re not secrets anymore. In his case, one secret could end his life.

Saloons seemed to be the easiest place to find a cheap meal and disappear among strangers. He’d learned to play poker well during the war and followed three rules from the first day he walked into a saloon: One: Never step away from a table broke. Two: Never cheat. Three: Never sleep with one of the soiled doves who leaned on his shoulders from time to time.

They were the only women he met. A respectable woman wouldn’t talk to a drifter or a gambler. Which left him with no midnight life, even though he left the tables with money in his pocket.

As the months rolled by, he kept moving west until he finally crossed into Texas. Here, there was less of a stain on the earth from war. The people might be poor, but they were still dreaming, not like most he’d seen. Yankees and Rebels even talked over a drink now and then. Texas had more to worry about than scratching at old wounds. The state was still untamed, with most saloons little more than tents with dirt floors. If the storms and the rivers didn’t kill you, outlaws and Apaches would.

Folks said half the men who survived the war were broken, but it seemed the ones in Texas were also downright crazy.